


Tricking Myself Nice

by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite



Series: Two Ways to Skin Tonight [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, BDSM, Body Worship, Cuddling, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Subtextual Flirting, Touching, a burn so slow it killed the authors, actual blatant flirting, bratty!Will, commands really, d/s dynamics, dom!hannibal, god so much sexual tension, instructions, vaguely healthy BDSM etiquette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-13 11:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: “It’s only an hour a week.”Only an hour.An hour out of the time he could be filling his mind with the last living moments of corpses. An hour out of lectures he's given for nearly two decades, now, to students who think they know better. An hour out of meetings that could have been emails and lunches that should have been cancelled.Only an hour, to talk with Dr. Hannibal Lecter on the company's dime._____Forcibly sent to therapy with Dr. Lecter, Will goes from wanting to mess with the doctor's head, to wanting to get inside of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Or: The one where they didn't meet until AFTER Will's Season 3 confidence boost.

A favor for a friend.

Hannibal rarely granted favors, and had few people he would truly consider his friends, and yet here he was, in the middle of the Venn diagram, waiting for an unexpected patient after hours.

Perhaps that, too, was inaccurate. Hannibal held whatever hours he felt he needed to. He could adjust to accommodate those with late nights or early mornings, those only available every third week of every month at midday on a Tuesday. He was gracious. He was professional.

He was good at his work.

He knew little of the man coming to see him; Alana had given him a very brief hardly scientific summary of why he was coming, who he was to her, who he was beyond that. Hannibal had requested his previous transcripts of course, but was still - inevitably - waiting for them.

No matter.

As the clock slowly moved towards seven, Hannibal set aside his journals, his files of previous patients, his sketchbook half-buried beneath the lot. He adjusted his suit, following the pinstripes with careful fingers to settle it against his chest, he let his heels click against the polished wooden floor as he made his way to the door of his office.

Beyond, there was no one. No secretary to guide patients through, no people waiting, so Hannibal rested his weight just slightly against the door jamb and considered how the evening could go.

There was a subtle art to lateness, to a casual disregard. Wait too long, creep upwards towards a half an hour, and you were definitively careless, purposefully stepping on toes. Even fifteen minutes was too much, an accident, the product of a haphazard and disorganized mind. People could forgive 15 minutes, they could dismiss thirty with little care. The trick was to be just late enough, just enough of an inconvenience to throw them off, enough that they knew you couldn’t care less about the gathering, but so little that they couldn’t properly call you out on it. 

Will stepped into the waiting room at 7:03. He had not been the one to request the appointment, after all. He found therapy to be dull at best and invasive at worst. Too many people trying to pry open his skull and catch a glimpse of what rested inside. 

“You’re unstable, Will.” This had not been news to Will; he’d been told it more than once. But he’d come to terms with his instability, his chaos. He found comfort in his solitude and safety in the mental forts he put up. Will no longer dreaded stepping into the thoughts of a killer, letting them twist and twine among his own. He knew who he was, he knew how to step back out. It was just that sometimes, blood left stains. He carried people back out with him. That tended to frighten people who couldn’t see the careful blur where killers ended and Will began. 

When the person who thought you were unstable was a neighbor, a coworker, even a date, it didn’t really matter. Will drifted past those people, let them flow through his fingers and back into their dreary lives. When the person was your _boss_, on the other hand, you had to listen. Had to be a good little boy and do as you’re told. 

What Will did _not_ have to do, was make it easy on the man, a Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Will had looked him up and found more in the society pages than he did in Psychology Today. The paper on social exclusion had been interesting, but not enough to earn Will’s good graces.

Thus, 7:03. Will met the man in the waiting room with an artificially apologetic smile on his face. The doctor was overdressed. Who wore a three-piece pinstripe suit anywhere but… well, _anywhere_, honestly?

“Am I late?” Will asked, tilting his head to the side and taking in the man’s features, the curve of his jaw and the expression in his eyes, “I fell asleep after work. Forgot to set an alarm.” _Didn’t bother, because you and this appointment are nothing to me, and you know it._

“Quite on time,” the other countered. “Considering your appointment was scheduled and requested by another. The chain of passing on information tends often to confuse details, little things that don’t matter to someone that are vital to another. Come in.”

Hannibal stepped back enough to give Will Graham the doorway, one hand out to gesture him through. He could see, already, the tension in him, the tightness of his smile and the way his eyes focused just past Hannibal, saw through him.

He entered the office with confidence, took a breath, sighed it out. Hannibal gave him the space, left the door open a moment longer before moving to click it closed. Before him stood a man far beyond caring for such things as psychology and psychiatry. Before him was a man at the end of his rope, according to Alana Bloom.

And yet, to Hannibal Will Graham wasn’t on the end one hangs themselves with, rather he was working the elegant quick-release knot that would hold a corpse aloft.

“Do you have any questions for me, Mr. Graham?” Hannibal asked, taking several steps into the office but aiming his trajectory away from his patient. “Anything you are uncertain about, when it comes to the process of psychoanalysis? I’ve been told you work with criminal behaviour, our lines of work run parallel on occasion.”

Will liked the office, despite himself. He liked the space, the freedom to wander. The lofted bookshelves were especially tempting, but for now, Will kept his feet on the ground. Plenty of time to evade later. 

For now, he did not quite pace, but he matched every step Hannibal made. The distance Hannibal put between them was not enough for him. It wouldn’t be enough unless Will kept wandering right out the door. 

“I know the procedure,” Will told him, “I’ve _taught_ the procedure. The lines are less parallel and more of a braided rope.” 

He knew, without looking, that Hannibal was watching him. He hated to be watched, but now there was no way around it. Will ran a hand through his curls, overdue for a haircut. He brushed them out of his face and turned, trying to look less vitriolic than he felt. “There’s nothing you could do, no trick of the trade, that I wouldn’t know about. So if we could skip all the ‘how does that make you feel?’ and ‘you were how old when your mother left?’, and get right to what I need for you to tell Jack Crawford I’m fit for work, that would be great.”

“Do you feel you are fit for work, Mr. Graham?” Hannibal asked, working open the one button holding his suit jacket closed before taking a seat. He watched Will consider the one opposite, but didn’t guide him to take it. He wondered if Will would sit down at all throughout this entire hour, or if his pacing allowed him a metronome against which to set his facade of calm.

“I _feel_,” Will replied, a tick in his jaw at the word, “that Jack is wasting his time, and the Bureau’s budget, on unnecessary psychiatric evaluations. I’ve been cleared for work by the FBI psychologist.”

He lingered on the amusement that hung warm against the doctor as he watched Will. Will knew he had the uncanny ability to appear likeable despite acting anything but. It was common for people just meeting him to want to approach him, speak with him, _understand_ him. It irked him beyond measure. But Doctor Lecter didn’t immediately sit forward to offer excuses, to plaster Will’s space with assurances of his own personal professionalism that would lead Will from the scowling recesses of his mind.

Instead, he crossed one leg over the other, and said: “What would you ask your students to consider, if you appeared as an example for analysis in class? If you were teaching yourself, as it were.”

Will’s laugh left marks against his throat, his smile spooled unbidden. “Are you serious?”

“A genuine curiosity,” Hannibal replied, allowing the corners of his mouth to tilt just enough, “from one professional wading through the process, to another.”

Will did not take the open seat, but he wandered behind it, trailing his fingers over the soft fabric of its back. “I teach courses on serial killers, Dr. Lecter. Are you asking me to pretend I’m a serial killer?”

“A simple exercise of the imagination. I’m not accusing you of anything, Will.”

He wouldn’t have been the first. Will bore the weight of other’s suspicion across his shoulders in a heavy cloak. “To my students, I might ask them to consider the difference between empathy and _sympathy_. Does understanding a person mean caring about them? Does it create an indelible connection? How much of me belongs to me, and how much to someone else?”

Hannibal had not been lying about his curiosity. He watched the slow tap of Will’s fingers, the shrinking circle of his walk as he began to gravitate towards the conversation. “And what would the answers be, Will? How much of your work do you carry home with you?”

A sharp smile. Will knew he could be, in equal measures, welcoming and cruel. People were drawn to the intrigue of the lure, never aware of the bite of the hook beneath. He sat in the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. An aggressive pose, in a way, no longer shrinking back and away from the conversation Hannibal offered. Instead, he projected confidence. If not his own, then borrowed from the same self-assuredness he felt radiating from Hannibal. “I know who I am, Dr. Lecter,” he said, slow and sure, “Instability and functionality are not incompatable. I’m _functional_. I serve my purpose.”

“An interesting turn of phrase,” Hannibal replied, “do you often define yourself by your usefulness to others?”

"When the conversation is with a doctor who stands between myself and my work," Will tilted his head, amused. "I do."

Hannibal's amusement was similarly warm as he tilted his head to mirror his patient. Will Graham was clever. He was _very_ clever. A man who knew himself well enough to allow the veil behind which his darkness hid to flutter but not lift.

Tempting, teasing, curious.

_Interesting_.

"And if the conversation is with a friend?"

Will laughed, a breathy sound that carried just far enough to reach Hannibal.

"Are we already that, Doctor Lecter? After twelve minutes and your subtle switch from my surname to my first?" Will hummed, narrow-eyed, shook his head. "From what I understand friendship requires a certain level of trust between individuals, mutual morals, perhaps, certainly the desire for their company."

Hannibal allowed him to go on, watching Will preen beneath his deliberately unkind words, unfurling like a flower. This was a familiar game, a constant one; Will Graham and His Miraculous Isolation, Will Graham and His Cloak of Cruel Sneering.

"With all due respect, Doctor," Will continued. "I don't find you that interesting."

"A curious conclusion to jump to," Hannibal replied amicably, finding to his chagrin that he enjoyed the way the man smiled, the way he shifted, untouchable, when given the freedom to prove his uniqueness. "After twelve minutes and my switch to using your first name, Will."

“Forced familiarity,” Will said with a dismissive shrug, “an easy way to create an artificial bond. Psychology 101. You’ll have to try a little harder.”

“An artificial bond, or an invitation to more relaxed conversation. Formality creates distance between two people.” Hannibal let a hint of interest color his words. Will was not a man who would like to be needlessly flattered, but a genuine curiosity about more than his superficial layers might appeal to his pride.

Not too deep, though. A delicate balance. Will did not appreciate falsehoods and fake faces, but nor did he have patience for psychoanalysis. He was a challenge, one Hannibal was going to enjoy picking apart. 

“Distance can be freeing,” Will mused. He leaned back in his chair, opening up his posture, if not his emotions. A mimicry of welcome, when Hannibal knew very well he was not invited to poke and prod. “A certain amount of personal space can be healthy in a friendship, wouldn’t you say, Doctor?”

Hannibal leaned forward, just slightly, enough to make his mirroring of Will’s posture clear. He let Will lead the dance, watching the steps for the next open space. “On the contrary,” he said, quiet and slow, “the best of friendships can sometimes invite an overlap, a loss of separateness.”

“Blurring the line where one ends and the next begins. Some would call that codependency.” 

“Still others would call it trust,” Hannibal said. His eyes lingered politely on Will’s face, but not his eyes. The curve of his cheek, perhaps. He had noticed Will’s aversion to eye contact. Will felt suddenly warm. Hannibal played the game well, better than Will had expected him to, and his words carried no small amount of intimacy with them. He imagined Hannibal was an easy man to like, if one was less cautious. Smoothly understanding, with a comforting tone, Will was sure he invited needy, lonely people wherever he went. Will was neither, or rather, he courted loneliness with a willing and eager flirtation.

He found himself, against his better judgement, curious.

Without a word, Will shifted to cross one leg over the other, taking up the posture Hannibal has held initially. A flip of the switch, just to see what would happen, just to see what he would do.

The doctor did little more than continue his observations in silence. Will felt that prickle, that itch to get out of the line of sight, to redirect attention to something more trivial. He didn't want to be here. He hated that the pleasure he took in his work was what kept him meek to Jack Crawford.

He hated that he liked the way Hannibal was looking at him.

Will flicked a stray hair from his face, parted his lips to take in a deeper breath than the rest, and felt the cool caress of curious eyes follow the motion, tracing over his throat and down to the second undone button of his shirt.

"Is that what we're here to cultivate?" Will mused quietly. Hannibal smiled.

"We're just having a conversation, Will."

“And at the end of that conversation,” Will reminded him, “you’ll take your notes and decide my fate. Difficult to forget. Moreso to trust.”

“Patient confidentiality keeps our conversation to the borders of this room,” Hannibal said. His eyes flicked once again to the overgrown curls, the spark of irritation on an otherwise placid face. “But beyond that, your fate is already decided.”

“Is it, now?”

“I see no reason why you shouldn’t be allowed to continue with your work. And thus we can continue with our conversation, unimpeded by the sword of Damocles held over our heads.”

“And in return for your decision to rubber-stamp me?” The game had not seemed so obvious before. If what Hannibal sought from him was really so simple and base, Will would lose any curiosity he’d already gained. But then again… Hannibal did not seem such a simple man. If he’d wanted a quick night, no doubt there were others who would give it to him. His desires, if sexual, could not be solely thus. 

If Hannibal was going to look so blatantly - and it _was_ blatant, at least to Will - then Will could allow himself a look as well. The suit hid him too well, made him look thicker and broader than he was. With the buttons undone, a peak of his carefully pressed button-down, Will could almost make out the true shape of him. 

If Hannibal propositioned him right now, Will would say no. If, however, he continued his conversations, gave Will something better to chew on than basic flirtation… Will might be convinced.

“In return, I have some hope that you’ll consent to more conversation,” Hannibal said, and the game continued.

Will clicked his tongue, brought a hand to his lips to draw against the bottom one as he regarded Hannibal.

"Quite the deal with the devil."

"Is company really such a high price to pay for freedom?"

Will laughed, a brief and light sound. "Am I not free?"

"To leave?" Hannibal shrugged. "Of course. Any time you wish, this is not a prison, no locks on my door, it is always open. To return to work?" He spread his hands in lieu of a shrug, watching Will's eyes flick to watch the motion. "Perhaps. I cannot keep your abilities hostage to my whims, it would be unethical. I see no reason why you should remain grounded when you are more than capable of performing your duties and teaching your processes."

Will's tongue drew briefly against his bottom lip. "But?"

"But would your pride allow you to take without giving, I wonder?" Hannibal replied, setting his hands to his knee and folding his fingers together.

Will cocked his head, brushing a curl out of his eye. His hand trailed the arch of his throat before dropping into his lap, and Hannibal’s eyes followed every millimeter of motion. Perhaps they were equally fascinated; Will kept being drawn back to Hannibal’s hands. “I can be very giving,” he said, “but my generosity tends to be restricted.”

“You won’t give pieces of yourself to those who would not respect it,” Hannibal said. He shifted, straightening in his seat and shifting the line of his suit. Will wondered if the ties ever bothered him, or if he found the constriction… pleasant, in a way. 

“We’re just having conversations, Doctor. There’s little of myself that I would lose.”

“Our stories are pieces of us, our memories, our thoughts. I would appreciate a glimpse behind the curtain.”

“You and half of the psychiatrists in the industry.” Will laughed, less restrained than before. He straightened up in his seat and let Hannibal get a glance at his eyes. Just a peek before the curtains closed again. “I know what they want from me. And I know what _you_ want from me, Doctor.” The former, to carve open his skull and see the inner pieces of Will’s brain. The latter, much the same, but with the added bones of peeling back Will’s outer layers to bare the skin beneath. 

“Anyone might have a professional curiosity about a man of your talents,” Hannibal conceded, “but my curiosity is simpler than that. I only wish to talk.”

Talk. In half-spoken phrases and words with double meanings. Will could talk for hours. His teeth found his bottom lip, scraped the pink skin white from the pressure and then let go. “I’m not sure I have the time to talk.”

“It’s only an hour a week.”

_Only an hour_.

An hour out of the time he could be filling his mind with the last living moments of corpses. An hour out of lectures he's given for nearly two decades, now, to students who think they know better. An hour out of meetings that could have been emails and lunches that should have been cancelled.

Only an hour, to _talk_ with Dr. Hannibal Lecter on the company's dime.

"Could I trouble you for a glass of water, Doctor?" Will asked finally, in lieu of acquiescence, in lieu of outright denial.

Hannibal's eyes narrowed just a fraction, just enough to notice.

"Of course."

He took his time unfolding himself from the seat before Will, oddly graceful for someone of his stature, and entirely aware of it. It wasn't a show, so much as an allowance; _you can observe, look your fill, draw your own conclusions._

_Test your patience against mine, I dare you._

Hannibal moved past Will and behind him to get the water, heels clicking on the polished floor.

Will allowed himself to look, since Hannibal was so welcoming. He didn’t move like a man, not quite. He moved like something on the prowl, lean muscle hidden by layer after layer. But Will saw him. Will saw right through shields, down to the meat of the person. The suits were not meant to intimidate, but to ease. They softened Hannibal’s edges, rounded him out. There was more of prey than of predator about him, but Will saw the determined way he went after things he wanted. He could lurk patiently in the water just as well as Will could. In that, they were evenly matched.

When Hannibal returned, Will’s gaze had dropped to his lap, his hands fidgeting as though bored. It was a well-acted show, but a show nonetheless. He looked up at Hannibal to take the glass, and their fingers brushed against the cool surface.

Will’s face did not so much as twitch as he pulled back, glass in hand, but Hannibal knew it had been done on purpose. Will was testing the boundaries, poking to see just how far Hannibal’s interest went. 

Hannibal, however, was just as much an actor. He settled into his seat, and they stared at each other, calm, composed. Will took a single sip of his water and abandoned it on the small glass table nearby. His eyes stayed on Hannibal. Hannibal could admit to himself a bit of a thrill, to have such a sharp and inquisitive gaze on him. He would love to see just how far Will could pick him apart, if he could truly dig into Hannibal at all. 

“I’ll consider your offer,” Will told him. He folded his hands in his lap, the same pose Hannibal had taken earlier. He borrowed Hannibal’s posture, his mannerisms. The smile that looked back at Hannibal was the same small one he offered to people. “If I have the time, the… inclination. A little bit of conversation couldn’t hurt.”

Hannibal inclined his head in something far too close to a bow to be taken as anything else, and lifted his eyes before he lifted his head.

“I very much appreciate it, Will.”

Hannibal looked at Will long enough for the other to cede first. And then Hannibal’s gaze moved on, as well. Not lingering, not pressing, not stifling the man before him. Instead, Hannibal directed his eyes to his own hands, flexed his fingers, adjusted his position. As he looked at Will, devoured him, just moments before, he now seemed to pointedly ignore him.

Immediately, he could feel the air shiver with tension, immediately, he felt the way Will responded without moving at all. He wanted Hannibal’s gaze back. He wanted his attention. 

“Is that all for today, then?” Will asked. The dismissal made him bristle, even though he saw it for the obvious tactic it was. Little moments of instigation were common because they worked, even on Will. But it would be simply _rude _to ignore someone when they spoke to you. 

“We have another twenty minutes,” Hannibal said, “but it’s your time to use as you wish.” He looked up, slow enough to follow the line of Will’s body, hidden as it was in clothing made more for comfort than for aesthetic. 

The second Hannibal’s eyes were back on him, Will twisted in his seat. He rolled his neck, shuffled his shoulders to work out the kinks, the motions tugging his shirt tighter against his chest. He did not move to stand just yet, but he shifted his posture, legs no longer primly together in a mockery of Hannibal. Not quite lounging, but stretched enough to call attention to himself. Enough to be ready to take flight, or to settle back in should Hannibal please him enough. “If I’m coming back for more conversation, does twenty minutes matter? It’s my time, after all, and we’ve come to a consensus.”

Will was a determined creature. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to call Hannibal back to him. Hannibal indulged him willingly, a reward of sorts for breaking first, for all but begging to bring Hannibal’s eyes back to him. “Perhaps not. But perhaps you might indulge me just a bit longer.”

_Test your patience against mine._

“For your benefit or mine?” Will asked, eyes hooding as he lifted his chin, knuckles skimming the vulnerable skin beneath. Hannibal, to his credit, met Will’s presentation with warmth, and a gentle stretch of his own.

“One is always learning, bettering themselves. Through exposure, through experience. We twist ourselves out of shape for others too often.” Hannibal replied. “Perhaps for our mutual benefit, dear Will, we can find ways, together, to _untwist_.”

A brief show of teeth, a _smile_ that wasn’t one, that Will felt strike against the instinct within him to mirror, to absorb, to _adapt_ to himself.

“Shift by shift, bone by bone.”

Will bit down on his lower lip again. The game had been subtlety, a delicate back and forth of not-quite flirtation. Hannibal had just changed the game in one fell swoop. Explicit now, calling out to Will, to pieces that matched together. 

Releasing his lip, Will smiled. Not quite the menace that Hannibal managed to portray, not quite joyful. Will smiled with softened eyes and hands that twisted together. “If you think you can benefit us _both_,” he drawled, his voice low in the large, empty room, “then you are welcome to try. I’m sure there’s a variety of things we could discuss _together_, given more time.”

_Impress me, _Will’s gaze said, _show me more than ordinary, boring flirtation. _

And Hannibal would. Given the opportunity, Hannibal had a thousand things he would gladly show Will. Hannibal wanted to unravel him and then knit him back together. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week, Will.”

Will tilted his head, acquiescing, and Hannibal took it as a cue to stand. Once more, he straightened his suit, adjusted himself, did up the button on his blazer and stood beside his chair like a butler on call waiting for Will to rise.

He walked near enough, as Will made his way to the door, that with anyone else it should have felt uncomfortable. Near enough that were Will to falter in his step, shift his posture, his shoulder would brush against Hannibal’s sternum.

He didn’t.

They were at the door soon enough without incident.

“It has been a pleasure,” Hannibal told him, the corners of his eyes branching wrinkles to his temples.

“Is it for every session?”

“Rarely so,” Hannibal admitted. “And rarely so much as this. Next week, then. I shall keep this time open for you.”

“I’ll mark the date,” Will murmured. They were close, still. So close. Will turned, angling his body towards Hannibal’s. He was nearly close enough to feel the heat of his body. Will swallowed, slowly, watching Hannibal watch him. “You have a bit of-“ Will gestured wordlessly, vaguely. “Nevermind. I’ll take care of it.”

Will’s fingers brushed gently against Hannibal’s lapel, then a little firmer. Hannibal knew for a fact there was nothing there, that there had never been a speck of dust on any of his suits. He was too meticulous. 

But Will’s fingers were gentle, just a tease, and Hannibal held still for him. He had attempted to unbalance Will, and Will had unbalanced him instead. Hannibal accepted his fate willingly. He didn’t reach out for Will, but he watched him pull away with a visible hunger. 

Will smiled, his sweetness faked but his glee honest. “I’ll see you next week,” he said, stepping back and out of Hannibal’s reach. 

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Because no one ever talks about the _waiting_. The paperwork. The protocols in place set up merely to entertain higher management as you jump endlessly through their hoops to get half a step closer to leaving the bullpen.”_
> 
> _“And you did,”_
> 
> _“Jump?” Will grinned. “Oh yes.”_
> 
> _Hannibal’s smile was placid, pleased. “Wait.” He corrected._
> 
> Another chapter of conversations, and some sexual tension to soothe that slow burn. (Smut coming next chapter loves, we promise!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the updated tags, too, for an idea for what's to come!

“Quite the varied career,” Hannibal murmured, watching Will’s smile narrow his eyes as he shook his head.

“Dull,” he amended. “The word is dull, Doctor, before my transfer into the BAU.”

“I can’t imagine police work often earns such a descriptor,” Hannibal replied, amused. Will sat before him, as he had the week before, but the tension that had then drawn his shoulders in defense now held them straight in challenge. He had flounced in, this time, six minutes late, and hadn’t bothered to have an excuse on hand. Hannibal hardly minded.

“No,” Will agreed, that slight drawl back in his voice that had seeped into it towards the end of their session. Southern. Pleasant. Purring. “Because no one ever talks about the _waiting_. The paperwork. The protocols in place set up merely to entertain higher management as you jump endlessly through their hoops to get half a step closer to leaving the bullpen.”

“And you did,”

“Jump?” Will grinned. “Oh yes.”

Hannibal’s smile was placid, pleased. “Wait.” He corrected. “You waited and you honed your patience as the manila cities grew around you. Answered phones. Paid your dues.”

Will considered him before inclining his head just a little, bringing a hand to his mouth to tug against the side of his thumb with his teeth absently.

“Waiting was difficult at the dawn of new technology,” he agreed. “The fastest Xerox machines gave no indication of progress, leaving one hanging in limbo for an indeterminate amount of time, held in thrall of new devices strumming against old nerves. Static hour glasses, frozen watches that were only right twice a day.”

“You’re not a very patient man,” Hannibal surmised, “No desire to wait when you can have what you want, when you want it.”

“I’m a fisherman,” Will corrected with a small, wry laugh, “my patience extends for hours, provided I know something good lies at the end of my wait.” He let his gaze trail the length of Hannibal, slow, pointed. “But in those days, you waited for someone to tell you what to wait for next.”

“All good things, as the saying goes.” Hannibal straightened, allowing Will to look his fill. “I’ve always preferred hunting to fishing. More involved.”

“Stalking, chasing,” Will purred. He shook his head and let his lips curl into a small, knowing smile. “It requires a bit more aggression. Yes, I think I can see it.”

“And you prefer to lure.”

Will’s smile widened. “Let the prey come to you,” he said, “wait quietly enough and something big might bite. I make my own lures, different odds and ends. Everyone is drawn in by something different.”

What drew Hannibal in was obvious. Will had watched for it, memorized what made him shift away or lean forward. He liked intelligence, definitely, and confidence. He was polite, but with the controlled patience of someone who could carefully twist the conversation back under his thumb. So, probably a bit bossy in bed. Will could work with that.

"The most frightening things in nature come with their own lures," Hannibal pointed out, to the delight of the man across from him. "A welcome light in the depths of an unwelcoming sea, inches away from razor teeth and hollow eyes."

"Is that how you see me, Doctor?"

"Perhaps that is how you wish to be seen by others," Hannibal smiled. "Unwelcoming. Dangerous."

"But you see through that, of course," Will curled his fingers and pressed his cheek to his knuckles. His other hand worked careful fingers against the arm of his chair, meditative, like a cat showing and retracting its claws in pleasure.

"I'd like to."

Will ran his tongue against the back of his teeth, thinking it over. “I’m sure there are many things you’d like to see,” he finally said, his knuckles grazing softly over his lips. Will was not a man for whom ‘coy’ was a common word, but there was no need to be, when he and Hannibal both knew what they were doing. “Do I lure you, Doctor? Is the light calling you deeper into the depths?”

Where Will shifted and fidgeted, Hannibal was still, contemplative. If Will was a lure, he was an active one, wriggling along in the stream, calling Hannibal’s attention to every turn and tilt of his body. The bitter, resigned man who had walked into his office a week before, and the sensual creature who sat before him may well have been two entirely different men. “I think you know exactly what you do to people,” Hannibal murmured, “I think you use that to your advantage to guide the situation the way you’d like it to go.”

Will raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk crossing his features. “So now I’m manipulative?”

“We are all, in some way, manipulators, aren’t we? Social situations are best born if we can make them suit our purposes.”

“How does this suit your purposes, then, Doctor?”

Hannibal considered, gaze slipping from Will’s face to seek over his shoulder instead. An elegant brow went up in lieu of a shrug. “A welcome distraction from the tedium of professional psychiatry.”

Hannibal had met people like Will before. Statistically, there were rather a few of them. He had, for a time, considered what the most appropriate approach to them would be, medically speaking. One adapted their therapy to suit their patient, but with people like Will, people who saw, and understood, and subverted… on occasion extra measures had to be taken.

It sent a thrill through Hannibal to consider his possibilities, as Will preened before him.

“And a chance, perhaps,” he added after a moment, shifting to set both feet to the floor before crossing his legs again, the other way, tilting his body to Will. “To see what would lure the light, for a change.”

Will hummed thoughtfully. He let his hand drop from his face, fingers trailing lightly over the bob of his Adam’s apple, before settling on the collar of his shirt. So many places could light up the body with heat at such a little touch. With the right talent, you might even light up a body that wasn’t your own. “Challenge,” he said finally. 

A simple word, but so much weight to it. Hannibal avoided the obvious answer, much as he would have liked to offer Will a challenge right then and there. No need to reward blatant behavior, and Will Graham’s flirtations grew more blatant by the second. But then, they both seemed to have left pretense behind. “Challenge is healthy. It helps us to grow.”

“It keeps us _interesting_,” Will said, tapping his free hand against the arm of the chair. “Without challenge, the world grows dull, and we grow bored.”

“Given the right mental stimulation, I find I’m rarely bored.”

“Well then, you’ll have to share your secrets with the class.”

“I hardly think that you, of all people, dear Will, need a lesson in how to use your imagination,” Hannibal replied. The response was immediate, yet incredibly subtle. A shift in the air rather than any physical motion; minute changes in temperature, a skitter of a speeding pulse, the widening - incremental widening - of already wide pupils. Entirely extraordinary in their ordinariness. Human responses on someone far more than that.

Will drew in a slow, steady breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Hannibal was baiting him, just as they’d been doing to each other the whole time. And it was working. 

Hannibal attracted him, appealed to Will on more than just a physical level. But his physicality also drew Will in. He was sturdy, broad shouldered. His eyes burned into Will’s skin. The game was losing its shine, though Will still played to win. 

“We all have our different stories,” Will said. He pulled his lip between his teeth and watched Hannibal track the motion, too instinctive to stop himself but immediately drawing his gaze away. “What entertains you, Doctor? What ticks through your head when life becomes so unbearably… normal?”

Hannibal grinned at the word, a brief, somewhat unsettling expression on someone who had kept himself so stoic. Will felt his entire body tense and immediately relax in response, like a beat of a pulse.

“Normal is a curious construct,” Hannibal offered. “So different to each of us, no generally accepted status quo to measure against. We carry with us an amalgamation of many normals, try them on like suits for new and novel occasions.”

He trailed off for a moment, eyes in the middle distance before a blink brought them back to Will’s. Will didn’t look away, he challenged, he watched.

“One evening, this week past, I found myself seeking your opinion on a certain matter. Imagined your response, based on what little you had allowed me to glimpse during our time together. But of course, our minds tend towards our personal preferences when we imagine, we glaze over impurities and adjust inaccuracies, put words into the mouths of avatars we wish to hear them say.”

“And how did I respond?” Will asked, amused.

“You played the Devil’s Advocate,” Hannibal smiled. “Demanded more of me. _Challenged_ me to pull the desired response from you.”

Will shifted a little deeper into his seat, legs relaxed before him, body lax and long and comfortable. “What was the certain matter?” he asked.

It was Hannibal, this time, who curled his lip between his teeth with a gentle hum. “Dinner.” He replied.

What a coincidence. Will was feeling hungry. 

“Food sustains us. It fuels us.” Will tilted his head, taking in Hannibal’s mouth, the sharpness of his teeth. 

“You put the life in your belly and you live,” Hannibal agreed. 

“One could argue that providing a meal is one of the most intimate things you can do for someone.”

Hannibal smiled, just the smallest quirk of his lips. “Meals form the backbone of our stories, our artworks.”

Will leaned forward. It closed off his body, but it let him be just that little bit closer. Still with the gap between the chairs, but close enough to smell Hannibal’s cologne, to admire the stitching at the end of his sleeve. “Are you a good hunter, Hannibal? Do the meals you provide satiate?”

“I would be biased in my answer, I think,” Hannibal replied just as easily. Their push and pull had shifted, a subtle change in tune and tone, a different rhythm. Rhumba to tango; neither following or leading, contented to switch. And yet… the way his name sounded on Will’s lips pulled something primal in Hannibal, tugged some nerves that howled, victorious, in the recesses of his mind.

“You think.”

“Are you a good fisherman, Will?” Hannibal countered, uncrossing his legs and shifting them beneath his chair as he, too, leaned closer. “Do you keep all that you catch?”

Another slow, steady breath. Will had shifted his body enough to look up at Hannibal, and he did so now, well aware of the way it elongated his throat, the way his curls framed his face. He supposed he was too old to be beautiful, but not to be enticing. “Not every fish is worth keeping,” Will said, his voice soft. “I throw the little ones back. I only keep the ones that impress me.”

The conversation had twisted. It had started out subtextual, double meanings woven tight against their phrases. Now, though, sensuality overran them both. There was no pretext, no pretend. They were almost playful with each other, each trying to get a rise out of the other.

Will was close enough now to touch, should Hannibal reach out. He smelled of motor oil, a terrible aftershave, and underneath that, arousal, thick and hot.

Hannibal took a deliberate, slow breath and closed his eyes as he held it, just a moment.

“Ethical,” he replied, pleased. “No cruelty, no waste.”

When Hannibal’s eyes opened again, and met Will’s, there was a warmth there he hadn’t allowed to show through quite so clearly earlier. It would be unconscionable, now, to deny there wasn’t something between them that wasn’t strictly _ethical_.

“I took time, in my youth,” Hannibal said after a while, “to travel and learn the culinary arts from masters of their craft across the world. It is only our modern society that wastes, that keeps the little fish when they cannot be eaten, merely so no one else can net them. Every civilization that came before used every part of a kill, from meat to bones to skin and sinew.” Hannibal’s eyes settled to the curve of Will’s throat again, watching the pulse tick there. “I’ve found it unnecessary to change things when they do not need fixing.”

Will licked his lips slowly. He swallowed, let Hannibal see the soft tremor of his throat as his breathing quickened, ever so slightly. “Broth and gelatin from the bones. Leather from the skin. There’s so much you can do with remnants.”

Will looked down at his hands. Hannibal followed his gaze, watching him twist and twine his fingers together. They were worker’s hands, steady and strong, but the callouses were not quite as thick as Hannibal would have expected from a man who carried the scent of oil on his clothes. Not a mechanic, after all, just a man who liked to take things apart and look at their insides. 

“I walk the woods behind my house,” Will continued, “I like to pick up the things left behind. My lures are filled with feather and bone, pieces of creatures long gone. No point to wasting anything.” He looked up and let Hannibal’s eyes catch his. It was unbearably intimate, for Will, almost too much to hold himself still. “I wonder what your travels taught you. What you make of the remnants that cross your path.”

“Beauty,” Hannibal replied, so quiet it would have been lost in the cool air of the office, had Will not sat so close.

Silence, then, just the soft pace of their breathing and an occasional rush of the wind outside. 

Hannibal broke their gaze first, a flicker or dark eyes up over Will’s head before returning to meditate on the barely-there freckles on his nose.

“Our hour is finished,” he said. “Pity. So many more things we could have taken apart.”

Will startled, the first uncontrolled motion he’d made. The time had slipped through his fingers, trickling away faster than he could clutch at it. He nodded, pushing himself to a stand. “Well, there’s always next week,” he said. There was no reason to pretend he wouldn’t be right in this spot at the same time next week. Not with the way they had been looking at each other.

“There is,” Hannibal agreed, walking with Will towards the door. Once again he crowded him, flooded his space and breathed in the pieces that made up Will Graham. 

And once again, Will turned to him at the door, the beginnings of a smirk on his face. “You’ve got something… hold still.”

His fingers touched Hannibal’s lapel, and this time, they lingered, dragging down the inner line of his suit jacket, a trail of heat against the thin fabric of Hannibal’s shirt.

He didn’t reach the apex of the V, where the jacket was held together with a pearl button; Hannibal’s hand caught Will’s wrist and held him still. Will hadn’t even noticed the movement, too caught up cataloguing the sensations of different textures against his fingertips, the heat of Hannibal through the layers and layers of clothes.

But Hannibal held Will against his skin, thumb pressing just gently against his pulse, fingers curled warm and strong around muscle and ligament and bone. It wasn’t a harsh hold, or a cruel one. In fact, Hannibal held Will so gently he could have continued to move his hand as he had been and he would have been free.

But Will didn’t move, and Hannibal did not let him go. After a moment, he turned Will’s hand palm up, his thumb skimming the skittering pulse held barely by pale blue veins. Both focused on that point of contact, on that place they joined, _finally_, after the promises held secret in this room.

Just two hours, after all.

Who would have thought?

“I find myself curious,” Hannibal murmured, his other hand coming up to spread long fingers against a curled edge of Will’s cuff. “Returning again and again to the conversation we held in my mind, where I put answers in your mouth for you to gift me,”

The flannel would not lie flat, both knew it. Hannibal still pressed, just enough to feel, as though to try again.

“If I had imagined your answer correctly, when inquiring about dinner.”

Will knew, in any other situation, that his breath would stutter in his throat, would catch and skip and falter. The only thing that kept him going was his own pride, the carefully crafted image he’d built of someone certain and still. 

In. Out. Hannibal’s fingers were a bracelet on his skin, warm and so steady. Will felt the individual curve of each finger, the gentle pressure of his thumb over Will’s wrist, and it was so very nearly too much.

Will had never had to resist anything he wanted before. He had never _wanted_ anyone as much as he wanted this mystery of a man before him.

“If you’ve built your imago of me as well as you think you have,” Will said, in a voice that was little more than a whisper, any more unneeded with how close they stood, “then you already have your answer.”

“Still,” Hannibal replied, “it would be a different experience entirely to be here for the response.”

“Then perhaps you should ask out loud.”

Hannibal’s smile didn’t falter. His thumb shifted again, drew a soft line over Will’s wrist that threatened to undo him. “Would you come to dinner, Will?”

Teeth against the corner of his mouth, Will nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a four-parter. No, this is FAR from the end of this particular story, just hang tight for more info as this comes to a close in a couple weeks <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you going to just watch?” Will asked, certain that that was exactly what the man was going to do, damn him. He jerked a little when Hannibal’s teeth nipped the delicate skin of his hand next._
> 
> _“I’ve a promise to keep,” Hannibal reminded him, eyes just as dark, tone just as threatening. He leaned in and caught Will’s lips again, as starved for Will as Will was for him, both trembling on the edge of losing their composure. The kiss was a reassurance, a reminder, perhaps permission, Will wasn’t sure, but it was enough to calm the tension that had built up briefly._
> 
> And so, dinner. Ish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandom is probably the only place where you can honestly say "I love writing smut with you!" without it sounding creepy.

Will had brought wine. He didn’t know the first thing about wine, other than that you were apparently supposed to drink it with fancy meals, and that showing up to a nice dinner empty handed was rude. Especially if it was a date. Was it a date? Did it count as a date if you were both coming in with very visible ulterior motives?

Will’s nerves were soothed slightly when Hannibal answered the door in his customary 3-piece-suit-with-four-different-patterns. He’d been a little bit worried that Hannibal would find a way to ‘dress up’ for the occasion, and the best Will had managed to do was slacks and a freshly ironed button down. 

“Come in,” Hannibal said, stepping aside to welcome Will into the house. In a reversal of their previous endeavors, his hand rested lightly between Will’s shoulder blades, guiding him into the entryway, before sliding off his shoulder to receive and hang his coat.

“Nice place,” Will wasn’t surprised. If Hannibal’s job wasn’t enough to suggest a painfully high income, his pretentious suits would have helped push that message through. Despite his nerves, there was comfort in the familiarity of the place; Hannibal’s home - from what little Will had seen of it - looked like his office. Masculine colors and low lighting, _space_. Will could hear the tones of classical music from somewhere deeper in the house and that, too, didn’t surprise him.

When Hannibal finished with his coat, Will turned to pass him the wine.

“It won’t go with anything,” he warned, amusement curling his words. Hannibal’s eyes narrowed.

“A challenge so early, Will?”

Will smiled with just a hint of teeth. “You said that the imago you created of me demanded challenge. I’m simply living up to expectations.”

Leading the way towards the dining room, Hannibal said “Oh, I’m certain you typically surpass expectations entirely.”

Hannibal didn’t bother with pretext. They were far beyond that, with Will coming to his table. Besides, flirtation in and of itself was a delicate art form, one Hannibal had studied carefully, though only rarely been able to practice.

He pulled the chair out for Will, at his own right hand. Will kept his eyes on Hannibal as he sat, reading the mood of the room out of habit. 

“I’ll have to open this and let it breathe,” Hannibal said, indicating the wine, “but I’m sure it will suit just fine for tonight’s meal.” It would not - it was white, where a red would have been preferable - but Hannibal would accept any effort from Will with grace.

Will snorted, derision aimed at himself more than anything, and considered the table. It was long enough to seat at least twelve, heavy mahogany, pristine condition. It was set, now for just the two of them; a silk square - Will wasn’t quite able to bring himself to call it a placemat - beneath heavy bone-smooth ceramic, silverware that WIll was certain was actually silver, crystal glasses he was certain were crystal.

And an elaborate centerpiece that wouldn’t be out of place in the goddamn Met.

“Jesus,” Will muttered, setting his elbow to the table to rest his chin against his hand before he thought better of it; he was certain that no one had ever set elbows to this table. “Do you make it a habit to have patients for dinner?” he asked a little louder, not turning his head when Hannibal’s hum warmed his skin.

“Only the exceptionally problematic ones,” Hannibal replied, voice growing incrementally louder as he stepped nearer. Will had to force himself not to shift when he felt the warmth of Hannibal’s hands against the back of his chair. “Others are welcomed _to_ dinner.”

Will bit back a small laugh. He kept himself still and steady as he spoke, none of his fidgeting from their last meeting, lest he press himself right into Hannibal. “And what, or should I ask _who_ are we eating tonight?”

Hannibal held no such qualms about laughter. He chuckled softly, and let one hand slide over Will’s shoulder before he slipped away to continue setting out their meal. He had rolled the dishes out on a small cart, and now he carefully carved out a serving for each of them. “Just pork today, I’m afraid.”

Hannibal said something else as well, but Will didn’t hear it. He was too busy staring at Hannibal’s hands, hands that had grazed over his shoulder, and now moved delicately and artfully over a meal that looked like a magazine plating. He felt suddenly underdressed and underwhelming, and resisted the urge to fidget with the silverware, though he did take a large gulp of wine the second Hannibal poured it.

“It looks delicious.”

“One eats with their eyes before their mouth,” Hannibal replied, preening. He settled himself next to Will, just the corner of the table between them, and smiled. “I must admit a personal fondness for aesthetics.”

“Really?” Will asked, eyes narrowing when Hannibal’s smile grew incrementally at the tease.

It was surprisingly easy. It shouldn’t have been easy. To have dinner with a goddamn psychiatrist his goddamn boss had forced Will to see so he could keep his job. To finally take up his cutlery and cut himself a slice of whatever-the-hell-it-was that smelled so divine. To groan, just softly, at the first taste.

This, Will did relish. Allowing his head to tilt back just a little, his eyes to hood in pleasure as he savored the spices, the juices, the immaculate preparation. He swallowed, parting his lips with a sigh, and shook his head before smiling.

“My compliments to the chef,” he murmured.

Hannibal enjoyed his meal in a slightly different manner, allowing the dinner to take second place as Hannibal’s eyes feasted on Will. He caught every reaction, catalogued every response; and Will was utterly responsive. Beautiful, unyielding, proud, clever, but _responsive_. He watched him swallow, watched his lips part to take another carefully cut piece of meat between them.

Actually pork, today, despite the jests.

It was difficult to eat slowly, to keep his bites polite. Will had, in all honesty, never tasted anything like this. His own meals at home tended more towards function than form, just something to fuel him through the day. 

Also difficult was remembering to speak. Will had devoured half his plate before he remembered there was someone else at the table. He looked up, a faint flush across the bridge of his nose. “You said you studied cooking while traveling?”

“I did,” Hannibal agreed with a small smile. It was always a pleasure when people lost themselves in his food, but even more so with Will, who ate like it was an act of true pleasure. “I lived in Paris briefly, in my teens, and then spent a few years in Italy, taking in whatever I could of the arts. Culinary or otherwise.”

Will’s smirk was warm, a need behind it to tease and toy, rather than berate. He hated when people lauded their achievements like this; a veritable checklist of how much better they were than whoever they were talking to. Yet with Hannibal it was less a résumé and more an offering. He had been somewhere, he had experienced it, he was willing to share.

Despite that, Will found himself all too pleased to answer, “and with all that cultural overwhelm you wound up in the medical field.”

Hannibal ducked his head in reply, as amused as he had been when they sparred in his office, when both had gone out of their way to not say exactly what both wanted to say to each other.

“Perhaps I found myself returning to my roots,” he replied, “back to the bodies and the minds that created and inspired the arts.”

“Looking inside people, seeing what makes them tick…” Will hummed thoughtfully, “what makes them sad, nervous… excited.” 

Hannibal took another bite, as Will drew his lower lip between his teeth. It was a move he’d pulled in the office as well, and just as distracting here. Hannibal’s food, normally always a joy to him, was flavorless in his mouth. He swallowed, setting his fork aside. “People are complex. There’s always something to learn about them. I enjoy unraveling the puzzle.”

Will bit back a comment about other things Hannibal could unravel. Too crude, too obvious, too… desperate. But the room was thick with tension, and he was beginning to lose his patience. Games could only be played for so long before they became dull and tired. “Not all people. Some people are obvious just from a moment’s conversation.”

“True,” Hannibal agreed, “but then we have people like you, as well.”

Will clicked his tongue. “Flattery, doctor?”

“Honesty,” Hannibal countered, pleased. Beneath the table he shifted to stretch his legs out, pleased when Will’s immediate reaction was to draw his own legs back, out of the way. It only took a moment for him to relax them back, however, the touch much more intimate than what either had managed in the office.

Will picked up his glass, took a generous mouthful. “Do you want to see what makes me tick?”

Hannibal hummed the affirmative. “And turn, and twist, and shift.”

Consonants clicked between them like hailstones, and Will felt - to his absolute pleasure - the slight tremble that Hannibal did not keep from him.

They had drawn this out for so long, or so it seemed. Less than three hours, really, but every moment had hung heavy in the air, had lingered in Will’s memory long after Hannibal was gone from his sight. Will knew what he wanted. And it was very, _very_ clear what Hannibal wanted. 

Will set his wine glass aside. Hannibal watched as he stood from his seat, circling the edge of the table that separated them, that invisible barrier. He stood before Hannibal, so close that his thighs brushed the arm of Hannibal’s chair. Hannibal could feel the very heat of him. He stayed still, allowing Will whatever moment he needed. 

“I could show you,” Will whispered. His hand reached for Hannibal’s, fingers trailing over the back of his hand and then up his arm, slow, steady. “And you, you have some things you could show me.”

“Many,” Hannibal corrected, pleased. He allowed Will’s hand to explore him, delicate touches that would feel shy if it wasn’t so blatantly clear just how _wrong_ that word was for them both. “Many things.”

Will’s lips twitched, just a shiver of a smile as his fingers turned and drew his knuckles over the sharp lines of Hannibal’s jaw. The doctor swallowed, exhaled, kept his eyes on Will before slowly closing them.

Will could have cursed. Maybe he had. Maybe he said a whole slew of things and just couldn’t remember. All he was certain of was that once the chair’s legs groaned against the floor, Will slipped into the space offered him and pressed himself against Hannibal.

And even here, for a moment, neither moved, Will standing over Hannibal, the doctor almost obedient in the way he looked up at him. And then just a flick of pink tongue parted Hannibal’s lips and Will was _done_.

It was a collision, hardly anything graceful. Will moved to kiss, first, lips parting immediately to taste each other as Hannibal’s hands guided - unnecessarily, perhaps - and Will’s body moved nearer. The chairs - antique heavy bloody things - were large enough to accommodate Will’s knee between Hannibal’s legs as he leaned closer, shoving his other foot against the floor for leverage as he rocked forward and Hannibal _let_ him.

One hand found Will’s lower back, drawing him in, supporting him, keeping him close. The other slid up to the nape of his neck, fingers twining lightly through soft curls, mussing the light touch of gel Will had used to tidy them. Will’s mouth was soft against his, but not yielding. Will responded to each kiss with an eager fervor, seeking out more, pressing closer and closer until there was no more distance between them.

Hannibal was a solid man, firm against Will’s chest, between his thighs. Will arched his back and squirmed as close as he could, until he could feel the heat of Hannibal’s arousal, until Hannibal could surely feel his own. So little time together, and yet they had waited far too long to do this.

The hand that cupped his neck slid up further, until Hannibal could gather up a fistful of Will’s hair and _tug_. Lightly, but still enough to arch Will’s head back and pull a soft moan from his throat. Looking down at Hannibal, Will braced both hands on Hannibal’s broad shoulders and rolled his hips forward. Not quite the right angle in a hard, unyielding chair, but enough to get his point across. 

Hannibal damn near _purred_, eyes hooding but not closing as he watched Will above him. Tempting, beautiful, fascinating thing. Open, and eager, and wanton. He held Will just a moment longer, himself not wont to let him go and have space between them again, even for a moment but… patience. Patience had paid off so beautifully thus far.

Hannibal tugged harder, a deliberate motion that arched Will’s back, that moved his body away, just enough, to draw a demanding groan from him. Hannibal’s free hand slipped up against tense thighs, between them, a slow rub to feel Will shiver, a promise of more. In a fluid motion, Hannibal pushed Will’s thigh from the chair, catching just behind his knee to draw Will close to straddle him instead; knees on either side of Hannibal’s legs, bodies pressed close and heavy and hot together.

“Show me,” Hannibal said, a tease, a challenge, a reminder, before ducking his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to Will’s pulse.

Will shuddered against him, his eyes slipping closed. Hannibal touched as Will had imagined he would: with a single-minded intensity that left Will aching. 

There wasn’t enough room like this, in the chair together with Hannibal’s hand still guiding Will’s head as he pleased, but Will had never backed away from a challenge. He went for Hannibal’s suit jacket, undoing the buttons that kept him from Hannibal. The tie was another challenge altogether; Will ignored it for the moment in favor of spreading his hands out over Hannibal’s crisp white button-down, feeling the planes of his chest beneath the fabric. Will wanted so much. He was going to have it if it _killed_ him, no matter the limitations of the space.

In the end, Will went for his own shirt first, undoing the buttons under Hannibal’s watchful gaze. Hannibal’s mouth followed Will’s fingers, a trail of heat down his chest until Hannibal could bend no further. Will’s shirt hit the floor and he cradled Hannibal’s head in his hands, drawing him back up and into another biting kiss. 

They devoured each other like men starved, Hannibal finally freeing Will of his grip to allow his hands to explore the skin before him instead.

Just as in his office, Will was far from yielding here. He pushed back against seeking hands, demanded touches Hannibal teased against him, gave as much as he took. When their kiss broke breathless and Hannibal's mouth immediately sought the bare skin before him, Will _moaned._

Hannibal felt drugged, all of his senses overcome by the man before him, against him, above him. Weight and heat and sweat and pulse, those sounds Will had barely hinted at with his clever tongue and shifting shoulders now pulled loud and unashamed in Hannibal's dining room.

Hannibal shivered as eager fingers sought to free him from his shirt, nails digging deliberate and pleased against his chest as it was bared. He spread a hand wide against Will's back and pulled back enough to watch him, enough to breathe rough and ragged against his throat that he was going to _eat him alive_.

Hannibal had a thatch of chest hair that was entirely too tempting. Well-maintained, but still thick enough for Will to drag his fingers through, rough and eager. 

“Then _do it_,” Will whined, nails scraping almost violently against Hannibal’s skin as he gasped and shifted in Hannibal’s lap. 

There was not enough room. They were simultaneously too close and not close enough; the chair kept them pressed together but did not allow enough room for either to fully devour the other. Will let out a huff of frustration when his hands were stalled by Hannibal’s belt.

“I have a bed, you know,” Hannibal murmured between a series of bites across Will’s shoulder. Gentle little nips, more of a tease than the sort of bruising mark he longed to leave on Will. “It will be more comfortable than the chair, and give me access to the rest of you.”

“Yes.” Will placed an awkward kiss against the corner of Hannibal’s mouth, unable to reach his throat properly, and too worked up to steady his aim. “Yes, absolutely, a bed sounds fantastic.”

Hannibal hummed, pleased, and turned his head to nuzzle at the curls bent warm against Will’s temple. For a moment, he merely held Will, allowing them a breath or two before he sat back and calmly pressed a hand to Will’s chest when the other made to follow.

“Upstairs,” he said. “It is the first door on the right.”

Will made a sound, somewhere between disbelief and need, and cocked a brow. “You’re not going to dramatically carry me upstairs?” he asked.

“Do you deserve to be carried upstairs?” Hannibal replied.

And something, _something_, caught in Will’s throat, something he managed to silence that grew into a full body shiver instead. He had expected bossy. He had expected rough, and claiming. He had expected instructive, even. But this… this was pleasantly subversive.

He considered a moment longer before seeking back with his foot to find the floor. Hannibal guided but did not control him, allowing him to find his own balance before sitting forward to kiss hot against the center of Will’s chest.

“Go,” he reminded him.

Will went. He left his shirt on the floor by Hannibal’s chair, Hannibal’s kiss a lingering brand. It was not the only place that felt hot as he wandered up the polished stairs. Everything felt hot, in that pleasant way it always did right before you slid into bed with someone. Will found the first door on the right and let himself in, hesitating. Should he leave the door open? Close it behind him, for the sake of politeness?

In the end, he left it standing partially open, lured in by the desire to see Hannibal’s space, to run his hands over the place in the world Hannibal had carved out for himself. 

It was dark, even with the lights on, but in a way that felt _comfortable_. Dark wood for the bedframe, dark blue wallpaper, bedding in nearly the same shade. Will could see himself falling asleep here, and there were very few places where Will ever truly slept. Although the samurai armor against the wall might keep him up with nightmares, instead.

The bed was massive, one of those unwieldy ones that even tall people had to hop up a little to get into. Will considered himself to be one of those tall people, and yet somehow he was sure Hannibal would slide into bed with the same grace he did everything else.

Hesitating, Will ran his fingers over the bedspread. It felt ungodly soft against his fingertips. No doubt it would feel the same against the rest of him. With a small smirk, Will shed the rest of his clothes, tucking them out of the way before climbing on top of the covers, spreading himself out on the bed with a pleased sigh. 

It had been a while since he’d climbed into someone else’s bed and not been thrown in it, and part of Will felt disappointed that Hannibal hadn’t been there to bodily shove him into the sheets himself.

But.

His hand sought between his legs, a comfortable grip and slow stroking as the image played over and over in Will’s mind, his imagined self falling against his corporeal form like a second skin, again and again until Will bit his lip and groaned.

“Lovely,”

Hannibal had followed only steps behind Will, keeping comfortably to the shadowed corners of the house Will was yet unfamiliar with. He had been genuinely curious to see what Will would do with his instruction, wondered if the man would be petulant, if he would immediately disturb the order in his bedroom just to lay his claim or settle within it like something to be worshipped.

He’d watched as Will spread himself on the bed, as he’d closed his eyes and stroked himself, head turning one way then the other, legs and shoulders and stomach twitching once in a while as he brought to life whatever his stunning mind had conjured.

What a pleasure it would be to watch Will do this to himself for hours, bare parameters set for what was allowed and what wasn’t, forcing Will’s own mind to bring him so close to pleasure he could barely breathe for it.

The word broke Will’s quiet reverie. He startled, pushing himself up into a sitting position, both hands propping himself up. He’d intended to be caught, of course, but he’d expected more warning. He’d thought he’d hear footsteps and be able to arrange himself for the best appeal. Instead, he found himself blushing, though he did not allow himself to look away from Hannibal.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Hannibal murmured. He draped his jacket, shirt, and tie over a chair to be dealt with later, and joined Will on the bed still in his pants and belt.

Will watched him move about the room with thinly veiled excitement, though he kept himself still, pushing down any urges that might make him seem needy or anything other than in complete control of himself. Hannibal climbed onto the bed, just as graceful as Will had imagined he would be. He wrapped a hand around Will’s wrist, pressing a kiss to the thin skin over the veins. When he smiled at Will, it was predatory, sending a shiver through him.

“Well? I asked you not to stop.”

Will’s laugh trembled from him, arched his back and bared his chest. “Are you going to just watch?” He asked, certain that that was exactly what the man was going to do, damn him. He jerked a little when Hannibal’s teeth nipped the delicate skin of his hand next.

“I’ve a promise to keep,” Hannibal reminded him, eyes just as dark, tone just as threatening. He leaned in and caught Will’s lips again, as starved for Will as Will was for him, both trembling on the edge of losing their composure. The kiss was a reassurance, a reminder, perhaps permission, Will wasn’t sure, but it was enough to calm the tension that had built up briefly.

He grasped his cock again even as he continued to kiss Hannibal, feeding him warm whines of pleasure until the other pulled away.

“Lie back.”

Will did, bringing his free hand up to tug his hair from his face as he spread himself open and worked his cock lazily. Hannibal hummed approval, shifted just enough to press a kiss to the back of Will’s hand on the upstroke. He lingered, close enough to let the smell of Will’s arousal dizzy him, close enough that Will damn near whimpered when he didn’t move to press his lips to Will’s cock next.

Instead, Hannibal’s mouth ventured farther out, dragging lips against the soft skin of Will’s inner thigh, up to his knee, down again. A brief flick of his tongue to taste the warmth of him before Hannibal continued his teasing over the other thigh, just the same.

Will’s eyes fluttered closed. Hannibal’s mouth left trails of goosebumps on his thighs, leaving his skin tingling and sensitized. He moved his hand as slow as he could, drawing out the sensations he was feeling.

Will’s skin was clean and dry, not yet slick with sweat from arousal or exertion. Hannibal hoped to change that. His kisses grew deeper, each press of his lips ending with a gentle nip of his teeth. He shouldered his way between Will’s thighs, spreading him wide. A small whimper slipped through Will’s lips, and Hannibal hid his smile on the apex of his inner thigh. He sucked a bruise there, close enough to Will’s groin to leave him gasping, hips rolling into Hannibal’s touch.

“Be still,” Hannibal said, his voice gentle, but most definitely a command. Will opened his eyes to snap something back, and lost his words in a moan instead as Hannibal’s hands held him open, dragging his tongue over Will’s entrance with no hesitation.

_I’m going to eat you alive._

“Fuck,” Will brought both hands up to press to his eyes, to tug at his hair, a wail he couldn’t even control escaping him when Hannibal’s mouth pulled away again.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“Hannibal, just -”

“Touch yourself.” Hannibal nipped against Will’s thigh, waiting for him to obey, biting down harder when he didn’t immediately. _Patience_. A test of wills against each other here as it had been in the office. Will’s curse shuddered through him and he squirmed, defiant and horny and needy. Hannibal deliberately spread him wider, didn’t lean nearer, and only when Will’s hand finally dragged down against the head of his cock did Hannibal’s tongue return.

Will’s mind was on fire. Humiliation, anger, frustration, need, arousal, all roiling wild in his body, his voice pitching high, loud, as Hannibal’s tongue stroked over sensitive skin, speared into him, returned once more to teasing, over and over. He drew his nails gently over his cock and whined, arching up against Hannibal’s mouth until the other moaned, a low, predatory thing, and began to devour Will in earnest.

There was no more beautiful a sight as Will squirming beneath his hands, little that Hannibal could see it when he was otherwise occupied. He could certainly _hear_ it, all those little noises that left Hannibal achingly hard in his slacks. With one hand, he tightened his grip on Will’s hip, while the other worked it’s way between Will’s thighs. Hannibal pressed his finger to where Will was wet and open, delighting in the broken little whine that spilled forth as he eased it in, just a bit.

Will could barely contain himself. The hand on his hip was leaving finger shaped bruises, little dots that Will would look at later and measure against his own hands, remembering the way Hannibal held him in place and made him ache. A finger working its way inside of him in tiny increments, slow and teasing little thrusts, was just too much. His cock smacked against his belly as he gripped at the bedding, trying to hold himself together .

Hannibal pulled back with a damp mouth and bright eyes. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he said, pressing his finger all the way in to the second knuckle. It wasn’t quite wet enough, a slight burn that Will would feel for ages, but it still left Will’s heels digging into the bed.

“I’m going to come,” Will explained, his chest heaving with the need for breath. Hannibal’s smile grew teeth, dangerous, erotically terrifying.

“You won’t,” Hannibal said. There was more than certainty to his tone. He left no room for argument, though Will looked as though he might try anyway.

He groaned, spread and shaking and _close_ and denied it. He licked his lips, dragged his teeth over the bottom one and considered the gorgeous man between his legs.

“If I don’t come now,” he said, “will you fuck me til I do?”

Hannibal’s expression was delighted, and he turned his finger in Will just to watch his eyes close and his lips part at the sensation.

“If you’re good,” Hannibal agreed, watching, waiting, until Will brought his hand down between his legs again, two fingers around Hannibal’s where it penetrated him, a teasing touch, before Will drew his palm up to curl over his cock again to stroke.

There were praises Hannibal would have liked to offer him, but they had struck a delicate balance between them that Hannibal hesitated to upend. Instead, he praised with soft kisses down Will’s hip, settling himself back into place.

Hannibal worked Will open with tongue and fingers, wet and warm and too much, at times. Will alternated between spreading his thighs wide for more, and clenching them tight around Hannibal’s shoulders with a whine until Hannibal pried him back open with his free hand. Easily, always so easy. Will had no doubt that he _could’ve_ carried him up the stairs, had he not been in the mood for another game entirely.

Hannibal spent so much time working him open that Will forgot the endgame entirely. Head thrown back, hand teasing so lightly at his cock, Will was a mess of sensation and sound, noises he didn’t even know he could make flooding the room.

It took a long time for Hannibal to be satisfied. It wasn’t until Will’s voice was cracking on every little moan, until he thought Will truly might be pushed over the edge into misbehavior, that he pulled back. The disappointed groan Will made when he was empty almost made Hannibal want to just shove his way in, lubrication be damned. But there were many kinder ways to hurt someone. 

“A choice, Will,” he said, wiping his mouth on a tissue and digging the lube and condoms out from the drawer by his bedside. “Your belly or your back.”

Will could barely understand the words, let alone reply; he was floating in a haze of pleasure-pain that had him feeling like he’d taken a goddamn speedball. He couldn’t help the laugh that snorted from him, watching Hannibal so proper, patting clean the lips that had just ravaged him to incoherence like he was still at the dinner table.

He’d definitely kept his promise.

“Back,” Will murmured finally, groaning as he stretched, arched, coiled beneath Hannibal’s warm gaze. “I want you to feel the marks I leave on you.”

A hum, pleased, and Hannibal shifted back to work open his belt as Will watched. Beautiful as Will was, entirely _gone_ as he was, Hannibal preferred him more aware for this. He wanted to catalogue every reaction and response, he wanted to kiss worship against Will’s skin and feel his heart pound against his ribs. He wanted Will to remember this.

The belt he folded once over itself and set aside, a pleasure twisting in his chest at the way Will’s eyes followed the object, heady and hungry.

Lovely thing.

He undressed without show or grandeur, allowed Will to look. Hannibal set one knee to the bed, body open, as presented as Will’s was, if not as vulnerable.

“Tell me what you want, Will,” he offered, a reward for every other obedience, hardwon as they were, as he opened the foil packet with careful teeth.

In response, Will spread his thighs wide, showing off the damp apex of his thighs and the reddened flush of his erection. Hannibal knew damn well what he wanted, but Will said it anyway. “You. Inside me. Fast and hard and filling me up like you’ve been promising for weeks.” 

And Hannibal _had_ promised him, if not in so many words. Every little verbal dance had come back to this, to satisfaction and arousal. Hannibal rolled the condom onto himself, kneeling between Will’s thighs and watching with pride the way Will’s teeth captured his bottom lip again. They always did when he was aroused, and Hannibal was pleased with what he was learning about the man, all the pieces he could memorize. 

Will was not the type to be intimidated by size, but it had been longer than he cared to admit since he’d welcomed someone into his body. Hannibal pressed against him, hot and slick with lube, and Will found himself squeezing his eyes shut and scrabbling at the sheets. 

“Relax,” Hannibal murmured, whispering the words into the hollow of Will’s throat, “let me in.” The hand that wasn’t guiding them together came up to grip Will’s own, palm to palm, fingers interlacing. He pinned Will down, his body heavy atop Will’s, and Will choked on a moan as Hannibal finally filled him in deep, slow increments. 

As desperately as both wanted this, _needed_ it, neither rushed the beginning. Will had a mouth on him, would use it, would deny any and all weakness that could be pulled from him later, but he was human, his body needed time, space, energy to do what it needed to do, to recover and adjust.

Hannibal adored the fragility of it.

He took his time, a groan from them both when he settled completely, deep and hot within Will, and waited. Neither could bring their lips closed enough to kiss, and shared air instead, hooded eyes and trembling fingers until one breath tripped over another and Hannibal took his silent cue to move once more.

Two more thrusts, slow enough to pull desperate sounds from both, before Hannibal drew his thumb against Will’s, felt the squeeze of his hand in turn, and _moved_.

And this, this was a fucking.

Will could barely get enough air into his lungs before it was stolen from him again. His free hand found Hannibal’s hair, grasped it, tugged it, twisted, delighted in the sharp teeth in reprimand against his collarbone before letting go. He dragged his nails over the strong muscles in Hannibal’s back, marvelled at the way his body moved, the strength it carried. 

He didn’t let go of Hannibal’s hand, he just drew his arm out straight, set his toes to the bed and spread his thighs wider for him.

“Fuck, Hannibal, _yes_,”

The stretch of their arms only made it easier to pin Will where he was wanted. Hannibal rolled his hips hard enough to jar Will’s body up the bed, every scrape of Will’s nails urging Hannibal to drive into him. His free hand slid under Will’s ass, lifting until he was curved up and off the bed, Hannibal hunched over him. The position pushed their chests apart, but it gave Hannibal much more control over each thrust. 

Like this, Hannibal could go deeper, fill Will in ways that left him shaking, his voice stuttering out of him in greedy little _‘ah, ah’_ sounds. The way Hannibal fucked him could almost have been wild, inhuman, twisting Will into a desperate creature who clawed and shook and dug his heels into the mattress for what little leverage he could get.

And yet there was no doubt that Hannibal was in complete control of himself. Of the both of them. He looked down at Will with the same intense gaze he’d had while easing into him, a look that simultaneously heated Will and made him want to hide. Will’s grip tensed on Hannibal’s, squeezing his hand tight as the bed shifted beneath them. He wouldn’t last long like this, not with the way Hannibal had licked into him, made Will want him more than anything. 

“Like that,” Will moaned, “Just like that, I can’t…”

“You can,” Hannibal’s breath stuttered, caught, pooled cool against Will’s sweaty skin. “You can, Will, now,”

Will didn’t even need his hand again, didn’t need Hannibal to touch him. Every shift and pull, every deliberate shove against his prostate, his skin so sensitive he was certain he could feel the molecules of air against it was enough. The permission was enough.

Will didn’t even have sounds left to cry out when he came, just breathless, sobbing little noises of pleasure as his hand sought against Hannibal’s chest up to his throat, around the back of his head to bring him down against him. And Hannibal obliged, carefully laying Will to the bed again, avoiding any movement that would push limbs to angles they didn’t belong before meeting his lips in a kiss far too soft for what they’d just done to each other.

Hannibal made a sound, gentle, and turned Will’s face to the side as he kissed his cheek next, just beneath his eye, up at his temple. He breathed him in, every aspect of the man before him, every emotion and weakness and strength. He hissed as Will’s hand slid down his back, gentle now over the scratches he’d left before, bright and stinging, and bit the sound of his own release into the soft skin behind Will’s ear.

The kisses were unexpectedly tender, and Will did his best to return the feeling, though most of his previous hook-ups hadn’t really extended into the ‘cuddle’ phase of the relationship. He ran his hand over Hannibal’s side, his hip, and then back up to tangle in his hair again, gently, letting Hannibal guide the movement. 

Hannibal pressed his face into Will’s throat, catching his breath. He liked the way Will felt beneath him, pinned in place, held still for Hannibal to touch and kiss and care for. He released Will’s hand in favor of cupping Will’s head with both of his own, tilting his head back so Hannibal could nose up under his jaw and leave kisses over the sensitive skin of his neck.

Will closed his eyes, trapped as much by the unexpected gentleness as he was by Hannibal’s body. He was sore, of course, and there was a stiffness to his hips that would need attention soon, but he felt… Good. And not just because of the orgasm. He felt secure under Hannibal’s hands. Like he could rest here and not run fleeing from his night terrors.

Hannibal continued his soft touches until Will’s breathing settled, until his eyes closed and he hummed, soft, as Hannibal pulled out of him. A rough hand cleared the curls from Will’s face and Hannibal looked at him, eyes narrowed in pleasure, warmed with something deeper than that.

“Stay?” He asked quietly, an offer, now, not a command.

Will blinked up at him, hesitant. He’d been hopeful for a repeat performance, but coming here, he had not let himself imagine there would be anything more. He tilted his face into Hannibal’s palm, soothed by the touch. 

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I’d like that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What do you know about BDSM, Will?" Came the next question, in the same soft tone, as though asking about the weather._
> 
> _Will had settled low into the pillows, slouched comfortably so that Hannibal had better access to his hair. At Hannibal’s question, however, he quickly sat up, nearly spilling his coffee. Okay. They really _weren’t_ bothering with metaphors anymore. _
> 
> ...and so it begins...

Hannibal woke because Will did, if only for a moment. A shift, sleepy fussing, and Will pressed his chest to the bed and his cheek to the pillow and allowed sleep to take him again. Just that easy. Just that quick. It didn’t take long for Hannibal to follow him, his own cheek against Will’s shoulder, nose pressed to the line of his spine.

In the morning, Hannibal woke first.

Tousled and flushed, Will didn’t even move when the bed dipped, when Hannibal left it for the bathroom and then passed it on his way out the door.

The house was silent, sounds from outside held at bay by double-glazed windows and a thick secure door. Hannibal allowed himself a moment, feet on the cool stairs, before he made his way to the dining room and to the unfortunate remains of their dinner.

He rarely, if ever, left clean up until the morning. The thought that Will Graham had pulled him to this, so quickly, twitched a smile to Hannibal’s lips as he worked.

Dishes, table, salvageable leftovers into the fridge, wine down the drain. Then he started the coffee machine. It was still painfully early, Hannibal awake only because he was unused to sharing space with another warm body in his bed; it had been a long time. The return was welcome. He considered the coming day, before that, the coming morning and Will’s drowsy return to the world of the living.

He wondered which direction that would go, how Will would take to being woken with warm lips and a promise of coffee, if he’d stay for breakfast or struggle from bed in his desperate need to get away. Hannibal supposed that Will shared his bed about as often as he himself did.

No. Will wasn’t a man to rush, even in discomfort. A fisherman, through and through.

Hannibal took two cups upstairs, setting one on Will’s side without waking him, before he climbed back into bed and took up his tablet to read.

Will did not sleep through the night, not usually. He tossed and turned and ended up piecing together boat motors at 3 in the morning, most of the time.

It turned out, a heavy, warm weight across his back made all the difference. He had vague memories of a single moment, staring into the blackness, before the comforting press of Hannibal lulled him back under. And under he stayed, as the hours ticked by into dawn. He woke in stages, first a shift, seeking out the warmth that had left him. He shoved his way into that space, murmuring something even he couldn’t fully translate. A hand landed in his hair, gently combing through his curls and almost enough to push him back under into sleep. It took a few moments, but he eventually woke that way, his smile pressed into Hannibal’s hip through the fabric of his pajama pants.

“Good morning,” Hannibal said pleasantly. He returned his hand to his lap, politely pretending not to notice the disgruntled huff Will hid in the sheets. 

“Good morning,” Will repeated, voice thick and rough with sleep. Hannibal nudged him gently.

“There’s coffee on the bedside table. It should still be warm, and it might help conversation go down a bit smoother.”

Will grimaced, straightening and stretching. He was pleasantly sore in several places, his thighs aching from the strain Hannibal had put him through. Enough to make morning-after conversation more appealing than terrifying, but not enough for him to go through it without caffeine. He pulled himself from the sheets, pulling the coffee close with a greedy inhale. It was _good_ coffee, no instant-just-add-water grounds here. 

Will took a sip, relished it, considered the merits of telling Hannibal it tasted like a goddamn orgasm felt and decided against it. He instead let himself look at the man beside him, now that night wasn't cloaking the two of them.

This was the first time he had seen Hannibal not immaculately put together. His hair was soft and uncombed, some strands falling over his forehead, some sticking up oddly at the back. He wore glasses, too, interestingly, as he continued to read whatever was occupying him on his tablet as he waited for Will to properly wake.

It felt… good. Waking up next to the man who had brought Will to teeth-rattling orgasm not hours before. He had to admit, he'd assumed that as soon as they both woke, Hannibal would start to gently imply that Will should go, excusing his rudeness with a reminder that they probably both had things to do. But even as they sat there, and Will blatantly stared, Hannibal showed no signs of discomfort, no indication that once Will had enjoyed his coffee that would be it.

After a few moments, Hannibal's eyes flicked to Will's, a smile held warm within that didn't tilt his mouth but entirely shone through in the way the corners of them wrinkled.

"You slept well," he said, as much a question as a gentle statement. He reached for his own coffee to take a sip, and politely turned the tablet off, setting it and his glasses aside.

“I did,” Will agreed. There were enough pillows on the bed to prop himself up quite nicely, and he took advantage of the situation, surrounding himself in comfort before taking another sip. “Hard to do anything else when you’re pinned so thoroughly you can’t move.”

Hannibal didn’t rise to the obvious goading. Will was welcome to tease and prod if it made him feel more comfortable about the situation. His good mood could only increase the chances of the conversation going well. 

“I would like last night to be a repeat occurrence,” Hannibal said, watching Will’s face for the slightest hint of displeasure. He was rewarded with a faint blush instead, and was pleased to catch a hint of a smile at the corner of Will’s lips. 

“No more beating around the bush then?” Will asked between long sips of coffee, “No more metaphors and hidden meanings?”

“Perhaps later,” Hannibal told him with a smile of his own, “For now, I have some things I’d like to discuss with you.”

Will frowned down at his coffee. Jumping from ‘let’s make our one-night stand an affair’ to ‘we need to talk’ wasn’t a trail he could properly follow. If Hannibal turned out to be the type of person who offered ‘constructive criticism’ after a night of pleasure, Will was going to dump his coffee in his lap. 

“What kind of things?”

"Would _you_ like it to be?" 

Simple. Effective. Will felt like an anvil has been lifted from his chest . This is what people did, right? Talked about sex together, had coffee in bed, started relationships…

"I'll consider," Will said, amusement curling his tone as beside him Hannibal hummed, pleased. Before he could say anything more Hannibal was stroking his hair again, a meditative and very welcome pressure against his scalp.

"Do," Hannibal agreed, contented for the moment just to touch Will like this,watching him absorb every touch and lean into it. Still so responsive, still so absolutely lovely.

"What do you know about BDSM, Will?" Came the next question, in the same soft tone, as though asking about the weather.

Will had settled low into the pillows, slouched comfortably so that Hannibal had better access to his hair. At Hannibal’s question, however, he quickly sat up, nearly spilling his coffee. Okay. They really _weren’t_ bothering with metaphors anymore. 

Will’s knowledge was vague and somewhat pedestrian. He had some vague ideas about a book his female students couldn’t stop snickering about in class, even though they were ostensibly adults training to be FBI agents. Beyond that, there wasn’t much he’d bothered to learn, very little that ever came into play in his stilted romantic life. 

“What,” Will said with a laugh, “you want to tie me up and spank me?”

Hannibal’s hand shifted, his gentle petting settling over the nape of Will’s neck, the soft touch occasionally drawing a pleasing little shiver out of him. “Yes,” Hannibal said simply, “perhaps even both at once. But what _else_ do you know about it, Will?”

Will made a sound of distaste but didn't move away from the touches. He occupied himself with his coffee again, keeping his eyes resolutely down as he fidgeted. Hannibal didn't rush him, didn't coax more inaccurate information from him, he just waited.

"Uh," Will managed after a while, "people dress up sometimes? Pretend they're a maid or something, I don't know."

Hannibal's amusement was palpable, but even so Will didn't feel it was patronising.

"The acronym stands for several options of the lifestyle it represents," he said after a moment. "Bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, sadism and masochism. Many people enjoy aspects of all of them, some choose a particular branch and concentrate on it with their partner."

Hannibal set his coffee aside and slid a little further down the bed again, to be on eye level with Will once more. He continued to caress his hair, watching how Will's desire to be touched warred with his discomfort at the conversation.

"There are rules, of course. Consent is imperative from both parties, for instance. Safety is paramount. Many people take their enjoyment beyond the bedroom, some beyond even the home, but those are deeper matters discussed much later in a relationship. Unimportant for now."

Hannibal turned his head against the pillow, sought Will's eyes even when he avoided the gaze, contented to be in Will's periphery for now.

"Did you enjoy our play last night?" He asked earnestly.

Will’s face felt hot. He stared fixedly at the blankets, searching for the right words. 

Last night. Hannibal holding him open, holding him _down_, moving Will wherever he pleased. Hannibal’s words, no, _instructions_ as Will touched himself. It was different than Will was used to. Different wasn’t bad. 

Hannibal waited patiently. He saw the exact moment Will lost the battle with himself, sinking slightly further as if Hannibal might let him burrow into the blankets and disappear entirely. Hannibal’s grip tightened in his hair, just slightly. Reassuring rather than restraining. 

“I liked what we did last night,” Will said, “I’d like doing it again. And I’d be open to doing more. Whatever else you like will probably be fine with me. I have a high pain tolerance,” he added jokingly. 

“Do you,” Hannibal’s eyes narrowed in genuine delight. He ducked his head to nuzzle into Will’s hair, to breathe him in. Another assurance, another offer of _this_ as well as the sex. The… anything else that came with it.

“I’ve quite varied tastes,” Hannibal continued, tone just as pleased, almost playful, and Will snorted. “Pain is certainly one of them. Inflicting it. Taking it, to a point. Pleasure. Its denial, its endurance, finding together the limits of each.”

“Control,” Will added, brow raised, before he set his empty cup aside by the bed.

“Absolute,” Hannibal confirmed, nosing up behind his ear, now, teasing, tempting, and very hard to resist. Will groaned softly, turned back to him, hands seeking beneath the covers to catch in his chest hair again, pulling himself up to lay over Hannibal as Hannibal had laid over him all night.

“So that’s it? You want to control me in bed?” Will grinned, watching the way Hannibal’s lips tensed, relaxed, his answer clear though unspoken. _Not just. More._ “If it’s anything like how last night ended I can’t say I’d be averse.”

“Not just,” Hannibal murmured. “And not always. Sex isn’t the foundation of such a relationship, but the added bonus. We would need to navigate what we enjoy together, find things that we don’t. Everyone has hard limits.”

“You won’t reach mine.” Will replied haughtily. Hannibal just raised a lazy eyebrow.

“So you would consent to being urinated on?” He asked. “Forced to choke on cock until you vomited, forced to eat that after?”

Will pushed himself up, palms braced almost painfully on Hannibal’s chest, his face abjectly horrified. “Jesus _Christ_, no!”

Hannibal ran his palms up and down Will’s arms, until he gave in to the comfort and settled back down once more. “_Everyone_ has hard limits,” he repeated. 

“Yeah, and _all_ of that was on my list,” Will scoffed. “So, navigating together. Trying things out. Things that _don’t_ involve vomit. _Christ_,” Will said again. 

“I have some ideas you might be less averse to,” Hannibal murmured, pressing a soft kiss into Will’s temple and then trailing down his jaw. Perhaps it was unfair, to rile Will up while having this discussion, but Hannibal had never concerned himself with playing fair. “You didn’t seem averse to bondage.”

Will made a soft sound, turning to nuzzle against Hannibal’s neck when the other sought to kiss heat over his shoulder. He was semi-hard, the product of biology and the discussion both, and feeling Hannibal so warm and solid and there. Will didn’t rut down, but he didn’t resist his body’s responses.

“You didn’t tie me up,” Will reminded him.

“Bondage is often mental rather than physical,” Hannibal grinned, biting just softly against Will’s skin, drawing his tongue flat over the phantom mark after. “And you followed instructions,” he hummed. “Well enough.”

Will snorted, body shivering as Hannibal’s hands continued to explore him, as his mouth did. This was lazy, sleepy, warm. It was rare Will had anyone stay long enough for morning to even hit them both, rarer still that he stayed anywhere with anyone when he wasn’t sharing a shitty hotel room with a coworker in the least sexy way possible. Now, Hannibal’s hands slid down his back, down to his sides, back up again, over and over.

“I was curious what you’d do if I didn’t,” he mumbled. He felt Hannibal’s hum through to his bones.

“And?”

“You’d stop.”

“Mmm. Operant conditioning. Responses adjusted by applying consequences. In your case, negative reinforcement.”

“That’s how you train dogs,” Will said. Hannibal rocked their hips together as his only answer, delighting in the way Will squirmed against him, still naked where Hannibal was partially clothed. “What if I don’t want to be trained like a dog?”

“There’s a word for a partner like you, Will,” Hannibal replied. “Someone genuinely willing to submit, to enjoy himself, but with attitude enough to consider disobedience.”

“Asshole?”

“Brat.” Hannibal squeezed hard against Will’s ass before letting go, meeting his look with one far darker before leaning in to kiss Will softly.

Will felt he should probably protest the term, but then Hannibal was kissing him, and it seemed a waste to interrupt. Soft and gentle, completely unlike the conversation they’d been having before. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed Hannibal touching him for the moment, the surprising tenderness of his hands. 

“I’m not a child,” Will finally murmured when Hannibal broke away. Hannibal pulled him down into another kiss, this one a little firmer. 

“And yet,” Hannibal replied, speaking the words against Will’s mouth, “I suspect the term will fit you well.” He rolled them suddenly, too quick for Will to brace himself. Will landed on his back with a pleased little laugh, reaching up to tug Hannibal down against his chest. 

“You said you like a challenge,” Will reminded him, “I wouldn’t want you to get bored.” 

“I think that would be quite impossible, with you, dear Will,” Hannibal assured him, and though the tone was still playful, still low and teasing, it was earnest. “I will myself endeavor to meet your undeniably high expectations.”

“Do I get expectations?”

“Of course,” Hannibal pushed himself up to look at Will. “It’s a relationship, not slavery. Though that, too, is a branch to explore within the BDSM umbrella.”

Will’s face scrunched up and he shook his head. “Some of this stuff is insane.”

“Is it?” Hannibal gently grabbed for one of Will’s hands, stretching out to pin him as he had the night before. “The things you enjoyed are not so different. You merely prefer a less rigid structure.” He reached for Will’s other hand, and Will allowed him to press it into the pillows alongside the other one.

“And you prefer strictness,” Will said. His gaze had softened, drifting somewhat into the soothing feeling being underneath Hannibal had given him the night before. 

“Every relationship has compromise.” Hannibal kissed the words into Will’s throat, grazing his teeth gently over his pulse.

Will hummed, still skeptical, still uncertain, but thoroughly enjoying the warmth and the wake up. The coffee was doing its work admirably, but he was still lazy and too-warm and under Hannibal again, and suddenly all Will wanted was another bout of amazing sex without the need to think ahead. Would they still be having sessions together? Would that become part of... whatever this was? Would he -

“You’re thinking too much,” Hannibal pointed out, shifting his knees between Will’s to spread his legs a little more, not as harsh as the night before but enough to feel. “As you should. I don’t want an answer from you today, I want you to consider the possibilities and your willingness to explore.”

Another deliberate rub against him, a smile caught behind crooked teeth as Hannibal bit Will’s bottom lip and tugged it.

And then he let Will go, sitting up and letting his hands rest comfortably in his lap.

He was as hard as Will was, but seemed not to even notice.

Will huffed an annoyed breath. “Really? Not even morning sex?”

“I’d hate to color your opinions in any way,” Hannibal said, his smile spreading just a bit wider.

Will rolled his eyes. “If that was true,” he grumbled, pushing himself up to a sitting position, “you wouldn’t have been gnawing on my throat all morning.”

“We all have our weaknesses.” Hannibal’s happened to be a hummingbird pulse under soft, pale skin, begging to be marked up by his teeth. But there would be time for that later. He was already certain that Will would return to him. There was too much curiosity and pride in him. 

“So I’m just gonna… grab my things and go home, then?” 

“I have the makings of breakfast if you’re hungry,” Hannibal told him, “But otherwise, you have quite a lot to think about.”

“Do you have a list?” Will asked, his voice tinged with sarcastic irritation. 

“Two-sided and double spaced,” Hannibal replied, not skipping a beat. “Certain copies are laminated.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No shit,” Hannibal’s smile quirked a little higher. “Nor piss, nor vomit, I assure you. In that we are in agreement. The rest, however, is up for your perusal. I would truly like to know which appeal to you and which do not, and why.”

“And then what? Trial and error?” Will shook his head, but he was still flushed, still curious, if nothing else.

“One must meticulously test theories.” Hannibal leaned nearer again and caught Will’s chin to hold him still, then he leaned in to kiss him again, a deep and very needy thing. “Breakfast,” he murmured, pulling away, “and more coffee, if you like.”

\---

Will let the dogs out and sprawled haphazardly across the bed. The list was, indeed, laminated. And detailed. Hannibal had not left anything to chance; there was no room for confusion or misinterpretation. 

Will’s bed was not as comfortable as Hannibal’s, but it was comfy enough. Settling in against the pillows, Will read the list. Then he read it again. 

He kept getting distracted. There were things on the list that scared him, but there were also things he could see himself doing. _Vividly_. Hannibal lingered in his mind, the easy, almost possessive way he kissed. As if Will was a sure thing already. As if Will was his to possess.

It wasn’t as terrifying as it should have been. They barely knew each other. And yet, Will was aching in his slacks, a pointed arousal that was embarrassing to think about. Will threw his arm over his face, blocking out the light and the list as his free hand crept down his stomach.

They’d parted surprisingly amicably considering the strangeness of the entire morning. Will had moved to kiss Hannibal as he left, found the gesture returned, a rough nuzzle following as though to shove Will out the door. He could still taste Hannibal against himself. Could still feel the tense stretch in his thighs if he moved a certain way.

He worked his pants open one handed, pushed his palm into his underwear and grasped himself. It’s fine. Nothing unusual. Just remembering a good fuck the night before with a handsome man who was talented with his mouth in every way possible. Nothing weird. Certainly Will wasn’t immediately considering certain points on the list as he drew his knees up, certainly he wasn’t hearing instructions in Hannibal’s voice invading his mind.

Certainly not.

Just a normal wank in bed.

Will whimpered, tensed his belly, dropped his knees to the bed to open himself up, arm still keeping the world at bay, keeping Will in a semblance of night as he pleasured himself.

He could not block out his thoughts, though. Flashes of memory, of sensation. Hannibal’s hand in his, Hannibal cupping his cheek, his jaw. 

_Don’t stop on my account._

Will had moved so slowly the night before, keeping himself away from the edge, wanting nothing more than to touch and be touched by Hannibal. Today, he was quick, almost harsh in the way he jerked his hand over his sensitive flesh. Too much, in his head. He was still raw from Hannibal, still sore where Hannibal had so carefully worked him open and then fucked him, folded Will in half as if it was nothing to move him, nothing to trap and pin and _fuck_.

Fuck, Will was going to let him do it. Will was going to let Hannibal do anything he wanted from the stupid list, even the stuff that scared him. Because the only thing worse than letting Hannibal make him vulnerable, would be never letting Hannibal touch him again. Will’s hips twisted, arching up into his hand as if he could recapture the feeling on his own.

When he came, it felt similar to the endgame of a hatefuck. There was satisfaction, sure, but there was an undertone, an aftertaste that left Will grumpier than when he was hard and horny. He turned his head to stare at the list again, as though he could shame it into disappearing, as though it could shame him, in turn, into accepting it.

With a huff, Will pulled his phone from his pocket, seeking for the familiar number and dialling.

“Hello, Will.”

“Fine let’s. Let’s do the thing. The stuff. The list.” Will groaned. “The stuff on the list, whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Will wondered if the call had dropped. Wasn’t this what he wanted? Wasn’t this answer - coming, literally, so soon after the posed question - what Hannibal was hoping for?

“Have you decided which you find the most appealing?” Hannibal asked, when the pause had grown pregnant between them and Will’s breath had hitched, aching to fill the silence himself. “Those we can enjoy between those you are uncertain of.”

“What if I don’t like something?”

“We will discuss it.”

“Right,” Will said with a bitter laugh, “Compromise.”

“And you’ll have your safewords. An out, if something is truly unbearable for you.”

It should have been a relief. It wasn’t. It tugged at that place in Will that couldn’t resist a challenge, that wanted nothing more than to prove he could do it, no matter what ‘it’ was. 

“There’s some stuff I liked,” Will admitted. “I already told you I’d try bondage. You’ve got like, a dozen different kinds on there.”

“I find it helps to be specific.”

“Well, I’ll try those. I’ll try most of this, actually. I’m not sure…” Will swallowed thickly. “There’s a few things on here… I’ll mark them, they make me a little nervous. But I might still try them. If the rest of it’s as good as you think it is.” 

“I will endeavor to make it so, for you,” Hannibal replied, tilted in a way that Will knew he was smiling. Will just sighed his answer, didn’t know what words to add to that, beyond what he’d already said. But Hannibal hardly minded the quiet, and filled it himself. “Thank you, Will.”

Will didn’t know what to say to that either. That Hannibal’s welcome? That it’s fine, like he’s doing him a favor? Should he thank Hannibal back? Will closed his eyes and just breathed. He’d never been good at conversation, even worse at small talk, hardly a champion for serious topics either when they didn’t revolve around his job. What the hell was he getting himself into?

“I would like to extend another invitation for dinner,” Hannibal added after a few moments of quiet breathing shared through the phone. “Full dinner, this time. Perhaps on an evening before a less stressful or busy day for you.”

“Monday night,” Will replied. “No lectures on Tuesdays and no one ever comes to office hours so.”

“Monday, then,” Hannibal agreed. “Seven. And the next day you will attend your office hours as you should.”

Will snorted. “Why?”

“In case someone stops by,” was all Hannibal said. “Goodbye, Will. Until Monday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this isn't the end of their journey, not even the beginning really. Look out for The List - their timestamps - posting from next week, Monday. *seductively wiggly eyebrows*

**Author's Note:**

> When in doubt, throw them into a psych session: a collab writing guide by Whiskey.
> 
> We wrote this on a whim, guys. We just kind of went from plotting to 'Oops it's 4K of sensual staring.' WE ARE FLYING BY THE SEAT OF OUR PANTS, COME FLY WITH US.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The List (Timestamps for Tricking Myself Nice)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927351) by [stratumgermanitivum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum), [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite)


End file.
